


Lesbian Stardew Valley

by BlueJay_Silvertongue



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020), Stardew Valley (Video Game), Supergirl (TV 2015), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Stardew Valley AU, Technically it's WLW valley since there are a lot of bisexual characters in here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:41:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24997780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueJay_Silvertongue/pseuds/BlueJay_Silvertongue
Summary: Lesbian Stardew Valley chapters 1-11 from Quarantine Oneshots, with new chapters to come!This story isveryheavily weighted in the direction of Huntress/Black Canary, but all of the couples play fun roles, and some other surprising characters pop up as well!
Relationships: Antiope/Menalippe (Wonder Woman), Diana (Wonder Woman)/Isabel Maru, Helena Bertinelli/Dinah Lance, Hippolyta (Wonder Woman)/Martha Kent, Korra/Asami Sato
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	1. SPRING: Moving In

### Chapter Text

After Helena runs headfirst into a hail of bullets that puts her in the hospital for six months, Dinah decides that’s it. She’s wasted half a year of her life sitting in an uncomfortable chair in a musty hospital, watching her wife sleep—she’s even taken up knitting to pass the time—and she’ll be damned if Helena gets out of here only to put on the mask and cape again, and land right back in this very bed… or maybe a very different bed, six feet under.

Besides, they’re both older now, no longer the strapping 30-somethings who took down an army of thugs on a spinning carousel. Dinah has aches and pains in places she didn’t even know existed, and before the attack, they’d both been practicing yoga first thing every morning just to be able to get through the day.

Helena looks surprised when Dinah opens the door to the apartment, leading her in for the first time since her little stint at the hospital. Things are in boxes, furniture cleared out, and their keys are on the counter.

“What’s happening?” Helena asks, reaching up and rubbing her eyes. One of those bullets had embedded itself in the back of her skull, and she’d lost half of her eyesight. Dinah glances back at her and grimaces, because they’d talked about this, but apparently she doesn’t remember…

“Babe… we’re moving.”

* * *

Her mother used to talk about the farm. Her own mother—Dinah’s grandmother—had saved every penny and finally bought the thing when Laurel was fifteen. They’d fallen out in her teen years, and she’d run away to Gotham when she was barely eighteen, joined the Justice Society, and never looked back. Dinah never even knew she had a grandmother until she found letters and the estate deed in her mother’s things. The property was in her name, Dinah Lance.

Her first thought had been that she hadn’t been paying property taxes for all these years, the feds were going to be out for her blood.

Her second thought had been that she didn’t have the time or energy to deal with that right now. One day, she’d buy a bus ticket, go out and see what she could fix up, and then sell it. One day, eventually…

And then that day never came.

Helena nudges her, and she’s smiling as she points out the bus window. Her smile is sweeter these days, less hard, less vicious. Old Helena would’ve been furious by now at how many hours, how many days of training she’s lost, but New Helena is perfectly happy to sit in this seat, gazing out the window as the countryside rolls by. 

_“Look.”_

And Dinah looks. They’ve just passed a sign that says _Stardew Valley: 0.5 miles._

* * *

There’s a woman waiting for them at the bus stop. She’s tall and muscular and looks genuinely happy to see them.

She introduces herself as Diana, the local carpenter. 

_The Mayor, my mother, asked me to meet you and show you the way to the farm._

Her gaze flickers over Helena’s pale face, but besides being slightly out of breath, she looks better than she has in months. Dinah slings on her backpack (the rest of their things had already been shipped in), and they follow as Diana leads them down the dirt road. Apparently their home is close enough to the bus station to walk, which… is odd. 

Diana doesn’t waste too much time with small talk, apparently sensing that they need a little space after the long bus ride. Besides, Dinah is too busy looking at everything: the rustic wooden fences, the rolling fields, the wildflowers mixed in with the overgrown grass, the nearby hills… 

“Can you smell that? We can actually _breathe_ out here,” Dinah says, taking a deep breath of pollution-free air. Gotham has its charms, but its smell is not one of them. 

“It _is_ nice,” Helena muses, reaching out to let the tips of the grass brush over her fingers as they pass. “It reminds me a little bit of Sicily.”

Diana turns back and points further up the road, where there’s a building.

“Here’s the fencepost that marks the beginning of your property,” she says, gesturing to said post, then sweeping a graceful arm out toward the horizon. “And here’s your farm!”

It’s a mess.

Dinah doesn’t know what she’d been expecting. The land has spent the last ten years uninhabited and neglected, and it shows. There’s a decomposing building off to the left that might’ve been a barn, and to the right is a sturdier—thankfully—building that is apparently their new house. Diana sees the look on her face, and she smiles and lays a hand on her arm.

“It’s a little crusty, but it’s solid. And if you ever need some repairs, you can always—”

“Diana.” The stern-sounding voice has come from the entryway to the house, and Dinah sees that the boxes they had mailed are lined up just inside. The woman who’d spoken is making her way down the steps toward them, and she reaches out to take Helena’s hand.

“Welcome, both of you,” she says warmly. She doesn’t _look_ very much like Diana, but they both have the same build, the same muscular frame, calloused hands, proud tilt to their chin. “Come in, before Diana starts trying to sell you anything.”

* * *

There’s an old dining set against the back wall _(it’s safe to use, I checked it myself,_ Diana says happily), a basic kitchen with an old fridge, one of the ones that lock from the inside, and a bed with a brand new mattress, the plastic still on. Everything seems to have been scrubbed clean; Dinah could swear she can see her reflection in the hardwood floor.

All of a sudden, there’s a lump in her throat, and she doesn’t know if it’s because she’s left Gotham, the city, the only place she’s ever called home, or because she’s finally here, in the place her grandmother lived, and her mother lived, and neither of them are here anymore, or because these people, these strangers took such pains to make her and Helena feel welcome, and she’s not used to neighbors like that, she doesn’t know how to react...

“We took the liberty of picking up a few things for you,” Mayor Hippolyta says, her voice brisk, as if she knows Dinah can’t quite speak. “It’s a long way to Zuzu City. Oh—”

She waves a hand toward the table, where a plate of cookies, a small bouquet of flowers, and a tall bottle of wine are sitting, looking homey and welcoming.

“Martha, my wife, sent that along,” she says, and Dinah sees that Helena, who has started opening the cupboards, has pulled open the fridge. There’s a large bowl of salad sitting on the top shelf, and something wrapped in foil that might be a lasagne. “She also invited you to join our family for dinner this weekend if you’re available.”

“My wife and I brought the wine. We ferment and bottle it ourselves,” Diana butts in, and Hippolyta shoots her a look.

“Sure, dinner this weekend, we’d—we would love that,” Dinah replies, feeling a tiny bit overwhelmed. Helena comes back over and hugs her from behind, and the two strangers exchange smiles.

“We’ll let you get settled. Here’s our numbers—” Diana hands her a piece of paper. “Call or text if you need anything, really. Isabel and I live just up the hill, and Mother has a car.”

And then they’re gone, and Helena has wandered back outside, settling herself down in the creaky porch swing.

 _“Dinahhhh,”_ she calls, and when Dinah comes to the doorway, she reaches out and tugs on her wrist. _“Look_ at this place… it’s like a vacation.”

Dinah settles down onto the swing next to her, glancing over the farm with a critical eye. She didn’t know what she was expecting with her limited knowledge of farms and country life. But she also wasn’t expecting to live long enough to grow old—not that 50s is old, but not everyone has the stamina of Batman, capering around Gotham in his late 60s like he has something to prove…

“Hell, I can’t remember the last time I put my feet up,” she mumbles, stretching out her legs to rest them against the porch railing. Helena gives her a shove, frowning.

 _“Don’t,_ if you do that, we can’t swing,” she complains, giving her legs a little kick. Dinah laughs out loud, and leans over to kiss her. There’s a family of birds singing in the distance, and she can’t remember the last time she heard a bird, a real, live bird, and a little breeze is rustling through the trees, and Helena is alive, and they’re starting over, they’ll never have to fight for their lives ever again, at least not until the Grim Reaper comes for real this time—

“Our new neighbors are hot.”

And Dinah chuckles, realizing that her wife is literally thinking about some other women while they’re necking at their new home. She nips at her lip in retaliation, kisses her one last time, then she pushes herself up off the swing.

“Let’s try some of that wine.”


	2. New Bike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helena and Dinah settle into their first day at Stardew Valley, and Dinah meets some new people.

Their first night in the cabin is the first night since the attack that they… 

It had been a beautiful night, and the food from the mayor’s wife had been wonderful. She’d included an envelope with a sweet little hand written note welcoming them to the town, and two other useful things: a map of the town that looks like it was colored on by a child (there’s a signature on the bottom that says “dONNa”) and a calendar with what seems to bethe whole town’s birthdays and some community events written in. 

On Sunday, _Family dinner?_ is written in looping cursive, and Dinah likes her already. 

“This has got to be the most helpful mayor’s wife in the world… did we ever even meet the Mayor of Gotham’s wife?”

Helena is more distracted by the map, delighted that the river is so close.

“It’ll be just like being in Gotham again,” she says dreamily, gazing at the map even as she stabs at her salad. Dinah keeps one eye on her fork; it had taken weeks of physical therapy just to get her fine motor skills up enough to feed herself, and it will take weeks, if not months more for her to even begin to fight again.

After dinner, there’s more sitting on the porch, watching the stars come out, and wine drinking. Then they go in and Dinah draws a bath (her grandmother apparently had her priorities, making do with rustic furniture, but needing a full-size bathtub). There’s kissing and giggling and soap bubbles, and later, after a lot of snuggling, Helena reaches up and runs her fingertips over Dinah’s jawline and whispers,

_Why don’t you sing me a song, Canary?_

And Dinah makes a face, but opens her mouth to start a lullaby, something soft and tender and lonely, but Helena leans forward and captures her lips with her own, interrupting her.

_No… not that kind of song._

Dinah begins to ask if she’s sure she’s ready, because 20 shotgun wounds are kind of a big deal, and it’s okay, _really,_ it’s okay if she needs more time—but Helena’s already kissing down her chest, her soft lips plucking at the tight little tendrils beneath her skin, and maybe it had taken weeks of physical therapy to get her hands back up to snuff, but her mouth clearly hadn’t lost a single iota of its former glory…

* * *

Breakfast consists of leftover lasagna and cookies, and Dinah decides to take a trip to the general store in town. Helena wants to unpack everything and put things away, and then go look at the lake at the bottom of the farm, and Dinah doesn’t want to leave her, but she looks healthy, more energetic then she has in weeks.

“If you feel tired, just take a break, okay, babe? There’s no rush getting any of this stuff set up,” Dinah says, leaning in to kiss her on her way out. Helena is holding the mixing bowls, and Dinah smiles, resolving to buy some baking supplies while she’s at the store.

She walks past the mailbox, then does a double-take, because there’s actually a letter sitting inside, and that may or may not have been there yesterday… Dinah reaches in and pulls it out. It’s a postcard, and for a second Dinah wonders if one of the Birds actually sent a postcard to her, but no, it’s not from Gotham, it’s from the Fern Islands, across the Gem Sea. 

_Hello there,_

_Just got back from a fishing trip. Stop by the beach sometime, I have something for ya._

_-K_

“Well, _that’s_ not ominous at all,” Dinah mutters, flipping the card over, but seeing nothing else written on it. She thinks for a minute, then hears the clanking of dishes coming up from inside the house, and makes up her mind. Food first, then they can have a decent lunch, and then maybe this afternoon they can take a trip down to the beach.

She checks the old shed behind the house before leaving, because she’d been thinking about walking, but carrying a pantry’s worth of food on foot sounds… not fun. And sure enough, there’s an old Schwinn bike leaning against the dusty walls, and as Dinah rolls it out into the light, she notices a note attached to the seat.

_Fixed the flats and changed the chain. Hope that’s all right. Come say hi when you get a chance. -Io (Blacksmith shop)_

Dinah stares, then shakes her head and climbs on. If this was her grandmother’s old bike—and by the vintage look of the frame, it was—this Io must’ve done a lot more work on it than just changing the tires and chain.

She’d even added a new basket.

* * *

It takes all of 5 minutes for her to roll into town, and she secures the bike to the rack outside the pharmacy. She’d been enjoying herself, getting back into the rhythm of being on a bike (biking in Gotham was not fun, and often downright dangerous) and she was almost disappointed when the town popped up so soon. 

The chimes hanging against the door clang as she opens it, and Dinah has to stop herself from saying, _Aw, this is so cute._ Because it _is_ a cute little store, with fresh produce lined up against one wall, and frozen goods lined against the other. The rest of the shop is filled with short aisles holding dried goods and toiletries and cleaning supplies and every other essential product needed for the good life in Stardew Valley. There’s a register in the back of the store, and someone is sitting with their feet on the counter and the newspaper covering their face—

“Let me know if you need help finding anything,” the newspaper-eclipsed face says.

“I will, thanks,” Dinah says, unfolding her trusty insulated bag and reaching out for some bananas. The newspaper lowers, and a surprised face peers out over it.

“Wait—are you the new farmer?”

“Well, technically, that’s my legal name,” she replies a little more sassily than intended. “But my friends call me Dinah.”

* * *

The woman’s—she’s a woman—name is Alex Danvers. She has an undercut and a pixie-like face that can pull it off. She helps Dinah find what she needs, packs everything tightly into her bag, and even carries it outside for her. It's almost unnerving, apparently Dinah's not used to her local grocers being so _friendly._

“Hey, do you know where I can find the blacksmith? I just want to say hi.” Dinah has the map from Martha in her jacket pocket, but she doesn’t feel like pulling it out and staring at it like a tourist. Alex points her across the bridge, promising it won’t take more than two minutes, and then Dinah’s off, the bike slightly more wobbly now that it has an extra load, but Alex is right: she’s setting the bike against the stone walls of the blacksmith’s shop in less than five minutes.

She eyes the groceries for a moment, double-checks that they’re secured in the basket, then pushes open the heavy door. And then her mouth falls open, and she almost says _Jesus_ out loud, because Io is working at the forge, hammering something, and she’s a _beast._ Dinah’s seen her share of muscular women in her day, being a metahuman vigilante and all, but this woman is _jacked_ like you wouldn’t believe—

“You must be the new farmer.”

Io is looking at her now, metal tongs still in one hand, and she wipes her brow with her other arm. Dinah suddenly feels warm, and—it’s just the fire. It’s the furnace, it’s hot in here, it’s _literally_ a blacksmith’s shop.

“Yeah,” she says, wishing Helena were here so they could step on each other’s toes the way they do when there’s an attractive woman happening. “I’m Dinah.”

Io tosses her work aside and pulls off her gloves to offer a hand. She’s just as tall as she is wide, and Dinah’s used to looking up—her own wife is about eight feet tall—but this woman is… is something else.

“So. You settling in all right? How’s that bike treating you?”

Dinah nods, then glances over her shoulder at where the bike is resting innocently underneath the window. 

“Yeah, thanks for that,” she says, trying not to stare at the blacksmith’s bulging muscles. “Hey…you know, actually, I was wondering…”

* * *

“We’re going to look ridiculous, riding around town on this,” Helena says when Dinah arrives back at the farmhouse. But her eyes are shining as she admires what Io had called a _companion seat:_ an additional seat on the bike for an adult. 

_One day when you can drop it off for a day, I’d like to reinforce the frame and tinker with a few things, but this is perfectly safe for now,_ Io had said as she installed the thing.

“Hey, you used to let me ride around on your bike all the time. Until we can get you back in the saddle, you get to ride with _me,”_ Dinah says from inside, starting to unpack the groceries. Helena had set everything up, and even laid the tablecloth over their rustic dining table.

“Good thing your legs are strong,” Helena says as she comes back in. She smells like sunlight and pine trees. They _both_ do, and it’s wonderful and bizarre. 

“The blacksmith is hot. And the storekeeper is hot,” Dinah says, slicing two sandwich rolls in half, one with mayo, one without. “In fact, _everyone_ in this town so far is hot. It’s ridiculous.”

“Hmm, sounds like we’ll fit right in,” Helena says, leaning over and kissing Dinah’s cheek. She turns to catch her lips, a light kiss, a simple little pre-lunch kiss, then she says,

"Do you want to go to the beach with me this afternoon? Someone says they want to give us something."

"That sounds... ominous," Helena says, reaching out to lay the deli meat and cheese slices over the bread. Dinah lays some lettuce over the top half, then smashes them closed. 

"Well, how about we both go down, and if they're mean, we'll bike away really fast."

"...over the _sand?"_ Helena asks, an eyebrow raised, and Dinah laughs.


	3. Fishing Rod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Huntress and Black Canary go to the beach and collect their fishing rod and two friends.

It’s already late afternoon by the time they finish lunch, tidy things up, take a short nap, and finally decide to head to the beach. It’s nice, living a little slower, not having so many deadlines, making decisions on a whim. 

_Hey, Crossbow Hunter, want to go see the ocean?_ Dinah asks, and then they decide whether or not to go to the beach. There are a thousand things they might or might not do today, and none of it is life or death, no one is going to suffer based on whether they act or not. 

Dinah thought she would miss it, but honestly, it feels less like regret, and more like relief.

The bike ride to the beach takes all of 12 minutes. Io had adjusted the gears so it’s easier to pedal with two people, and Helena’s arms are tight around her waist, her head resting against her back, just like the old days.

It’s strange, to think that the old days really are just that: old, and more likely than not, gone. 

_Shut up, you moved here to relax and get away from the things that would destroy your future. Don’t let the past start bringing you down now._

Dinah shakes her head, making Helena shift behind her, and she mumbles an apology, focusing on steering the damn thing. There are a few people walking around the town square: Hippolyta is out talking with someone underneath a tree like she’s Plato—or was is Socrates? She waves when they sail past, and there are other people Dinah hasn’t met yet, but she can’t stop, she’s late for a very important date with a stranger at the _beach—_

“...wow.”

There’s a short boardwalk leading out for a ways over the sand, but then it drops out, and then it’s just water… blue and sparkling and full of memories. There were all those trips to the Atlantic City boardwalks to take out some kingpin at a casino, or the trips to National City or San Francisco, tracking down some fighter or goon, or the first time they’d road-tripped up and down Italy, always beginning and ending on that island where the Huntress was born…

Dinah doesn't speak as she slides off the bike and holds it steady as Helena hops off of her seat. The beach almost seems secluded, hidden by the thicket. There’s a little house, barely more than a hut, buried amongst the trees. Up on the docks, is a building that has a “Bait & Tackle Shop” sign hanging over it. And standing at the edge of the dock, swearing loudly at a sailboat bobbing innocently in the water, is a woman.

Dinah and Helena exchange a glance, then they move forward, protective stances on, almost as a force of habit. But when she spots them, the stranger lets out a big laugh that echos over the restless water, and gives them a friendly wave.

“So let me guess, you’re the new farmers,” she says as they make their way across the weathered planks. The salty ocean smell is stronger here, hanging around the floating seaweed and barnacles wrapped around the half-submerged posts, but it’s a familiar smell, and far more welcoming than the smell of Gotham harbor.

“We should really just change our names to that,” Dinah says, but she puts on a smile and puts out her hand. The woman’s grip is strong, and her features are even stronger. She’s short and sturdy, but she moves like a dancer, and up close, she looks much younger than she had from afar, maybe mid-twenties.

“This is Dinah,” Helena says pointedly, nudging Dinah with her foot, although she’s fairly sure it’s a, _shut up and don’t be rude_ nudge instead of a, _damn, this woman is ripped!_ nudge. Dinah nudges her back, just to be safe. “And I’m Helena.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” the sailor replies with a broad smile. “I’m Korra.”

* * *

She’d just returned from a trip to visit her parents in the Fern Islands. And while she was there, she’d sold a big load of fish and finally earned enough to buy a new fishing rod.

“Anyway, you got my note, so here, I want you to have the old rod,” Korra explains, lifting up a fishing pole from her sailboat and thrusting it into Helena’s hands. “There’s a nice lake out there on your farm, and you can catch all kinds of stuff this time of year: carp, bullheads. Although, some fish are better for eating than others. Which you’ll find out.”

She appraises them with a skeptical eye, and Dinah knows what they must look like, two city kids standing on a dock, mouths open at the idea of forging for their own food… 

“Huh. I haven’t gone fishing since I was a kid,” Helena says, turning the fishing pole over in her hands, snapping it back and forth a few times. She sees Dinah staring at her, and shrugs. “What? I got pretty good at it, it was the waiting part that killed me.”

Korra smiles and jerks her head toward the shop.

“Come on in, I’ll fix you up with some stuff. If you use the right bait, you won’t have to wait very long…”

* * *

Korra packs them a little tackle box free of charge, refusing their money when they try to pay her. Helena is fascinated by all the colorful little lures, so much so that Dinah hears the footsteps on the dock before she does, and she can’t help it, turning to face the door as they approach, and fists balled as the door finally swings open.

“So I see that _sailboat_ is still in one piece—oh!” The figure in the doorway looks surprised to see them, but she immediately extends her hand, introducing herself as Asami, curator of the Pelican Town museum and library—and judging the way they start bantering with each other, Korra’s girlfriend.

“—saw the two-person bike up on the beach, and I thought Kara finally upgraded that janky old machine of hers—”

“What would _Kara_ be doing with a two-person bike?” 

The two have invited Dinah and Helena to join them for dinner at the saloon. Helena had made such a big fuss about paying for their fishing loot, Korra had agreed to let them buy her a drink.

“I don’t know, maybe she finally sucked it up and asked the pharmacist out.”

“Hah! I’ll put money on it—a hundred bucks—that Lena asks her out first.”

_“Deal.”_

They shake on it, then Asami flashes them an apologetic smile and waves for them to follow her out of the shop.

“I’m sorry—all these new names. I can remember my first few weeks after moving here, it felt like so many people! Who’ve you met so far?”

Helena answers, still holding onto her new fishing rod and little tackle box like she was born for this, and Dinah makes a note to find her a flannel shirt sometime… a flannel shirt and a baseball cap, that would about do it.

_I like this side of you, Crossbow Killer,_ she thinks to herself, watching as Helena throws her head back and laughs at something Korra had said. But it's true, because since the first moment they met, they’d been fighting for their lives, literally killing a man together before they’d even gotten a proper look at each other. And everything with the Birds, all the vigilante stuff… even with their rare vacations, they’d never really had a chance to be _normal._ They’d spent so much of their adults lives being as tough as possible in order to survive the streets of Gotham, and these simpler things: fishing, baking, taking long walks on the beach… they seem so foreign, and yet so familiar.

The sun is already beginning to set, and Dinah glances over her shoulder at the sky. The world is basking in golden light, and it looks different than when they’d watched the sunset yesterday from their porch; different, but just as wonderful.

"Daydreaming?" Helena is suddenly beside her, hand reaching down to meet hers. Dinah looks up at her, and she looks so happy, it almost makes her heart ache.

"Only a little."


	4. Stardrop Saloon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Korrasami and Dinah/Helena hang out at the Stardrop Saloon.

There’s a woman behind the counter of the Stardrop Saloon, and she smiles as they file in, Korra and Asami calling cheerful hellos. But when she spots Dinah and Helena, she maneuvers her wheelchair out from behind the counter to shake their hands and welcome them to the town.

“I’m Barbara,” she says, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose as if to take a better look at them. “Everyone’s been talking about you!”

“Oh, great,” Dinah says, but Barbara just shoots her a knowing smile.

“Don’t worry, they’re just curious. We don’t get a lot of new people in town, this is exciting. In fact...”

She wheels backwards, craning her neck to look into the kitchen, and she calls,

“Karen! Come out and meet the new people!”

There’s a muffled shout of _the what?!_ and Korra and Asami muffle snickers behind their hands. But another woman emerges from the kitchen, a white apron tired around her waist, and a baseball cap shoved over her pale hair. She looks puzzled for a fraction of a second, then her face lights up as she spots the customers.

“Oh, hey, new people!”

* * *

It’s a cozy little place. Korra grabs them a table close to the fireplace, where a real fire is actually going, and they order nachos and beer for everyone. Helena and Dinah split a small pizza with their favorite toppings on their respective sides, and Karen even sends an _amuse-bouche_ to their table, free of charge.

“Hmm, I am amused,” Asami says, sampling what is apparently seasoned mussels on tiny slices of toasted baguette. 

“I am _bouched,”_ Korra says, eating her entire serving in one mouthful. “Wow! That’s… different.”

Dinah doesn’t care for it, either. She’s never been one for seafood, especially not the chewy kind, but Helena, her ocean-happy island girl, likes it and eats the rest of her share.

Their new friends are interesting and extroverted. Korra talks for a while about her fishing trip and the Fern Islands, and Asami talks about some artifact she’s been researching in the museum. They ask Dinah and Helena about Gotham and their past lives, and how things are going on the farm. They laugh easily, these young people, and it’s strange. Dinah doesn’t think she’s heard this much laughter since—since the Joker captured the Birds that one time, but that was different, _very_ different than this… 

Maybe they should’ve left Gotham long before this.

* * *

Kara has just stopped by to offer them dessert: ice cream, red velvet cake, or bread pudding, when the door shoves open and a woman makes her way in, heading up to the counter for takeout.

“Hell, we’ll take one of everything—hey, Antiope!” Korra shouts, standing in her seat and waving wildly as if the newcomer is a mile away instead of a few yards. Asami winces, shooting the rest of them an apologetic smile, but she raises her hand in greeting as the woman makes her way over.

“Aha, my sister told me you two finally arrived!” she says, shaking their hands. Korra puts her hand out to shake too, and Antiope slaps it away. “Do you like dogs?”

Dinah blinks at the sudden topic change, but Helena says without missing a beat,

“I _love_ dogs.”

Antiope gives her a hearty clap on the back, and she looks almost surprised for a split-second when Helena doesn’t even flinch. 

“Huh. I like this one,” she says, shooting Dinah a wink. “We have a boxful of puppies. Stop by sometime and pick one out. Every farm needs a good dog.”

“Hey, when are you going to offer _me_ a dog?” Korra asks, leaning forward, fists on the table, and Antiope waves a dismissive hand in her face.

“Get yourself a boat that’s not in danger of capsizing at any given moment, and we’ll talk,” she says, and Korra cackles loudly.

“Where’s Mena tonight?” Asami asks, laying one hand on her girlfriend’s arm and subtly pushing her tankard of beer out of her reach with the other.

“Oh, she’s at home, one of the horses has diarrhea and we figured it would be best if—”

“Menalippe’s at home. Got it,” Kara says, appearing out of nowhere with a tray full of desserts. “People are about to eat over here, Antiope.”

“Join us for a few minutes,” Asami offers, but Antiope shakes her head, holding up the bag of takeout in her hand. 

“Can’t. I just came over to say hi to the newbies. I’ll see you two at dinner on Sunday, and I’ll see the rest of you—”

“Unless _we_ see you first,” Korra finishes, and Antiope shakes her head, smiling.

“Asami, don’t let her eat anymore sugar.”

* * *

After dessert, Korra challenges Dinah to a game of pool, and they move to the game room. Helena starts to make her way over to the couch, ready to sit this one out and cheer on her wife, but Asami intercepts her along the way.

“Hey, do you like driving?”

* * *

Helena can’t remember the last time she’s played an arcade game. It might’ve been before the murders, even. There were certainly no trips to the arcade in Sicily, and once she moved to Gotham, doing silly things like games were out of the questions, especially in a city where mad criminals tended to attach explosives to anything with a button.

It’s a racing game, with fake steering wheels, pedals, and the works, and Helena is amazed when Asami actually beats her in their first game. 

“What were you, a racer in your past life?” she asks, leaning back in her seat as their scores blare across the screens. Asami looks a little embarrassed, but she points to Helena’s score, looking impressed.

“Hey, that’s way better than my first score was! Do you wanna try again? I think you were just starting to get the hang of it.”

Helena cracks her knuckles and leans forward.

“You’re _on.”_

* * *

The night is still echoing with the sounds of their new friends calling goodbye. Korra and Asami stayed to help put up the bar for the night, and Dinah and Helena had stayed as well. Barbara had given them a bag of extra chocolate-chip cookies for their troubles, and then they’re dispersed: Barbara to her rooms behind the saloon, Karen and Kara to their house on the other side of the town square, Korra and Asami to the little apartment attached to the museum, and Dinah and Helena, biking slowly beneath the stars to their farmhouse.

Helena is leaning heavily against her, tired and buzzed and happy, and Dinah is feeling more relaxed than she has in years.

“Our new friends are neat,” Helena mumbles. The bike slides down the path with nary a creak, only the rhythmic sound of the chain propelling the wheels forward. It’s close to midnight, and the town is peaceful and asleep except for a few scattered lights on in windows, barely a soft glow behind closed curtains.

_Do… do you think we should’ve left Gotham earlier?_ Dinah asks later when they’re lying in bed together, Helena curled up against her, one arm flung across her chest. She doesn’t answer except for a soft snore, and Dinah stares down at her for a long moment, her pale face lit softly by the light of the rising moon. Maybe the moment Renee had said, _It’s only a matter of time before some other asshole takes his place,_ she should’ve known it would be a never-ending cycle. Maybe the moment she got the call about her mother being gunned down, and driving as fast as she could to the crime scene, only to find her mother still lying there in the middle of the street, marked off, dead for hours… that should’ve been the time she said _fuck this_ and gotten herself out. Maybe—

_“Dinah…”_ Helena’s voice is sleepy and muffled against Dinah’s pajamas. 

_“Yeah, babe?”_ she asks softly, combing her fingers through that inky hair. The first thing they’d done after she was released from the hospital was get it dyed again, jet black, just like her soul. 

_“Your heart is too loud.”_

She blinks, then gives a quiet laugh and bends to kiss the top of that mussed head, pulling her wife close. The crickets are singing outside, and a light breeze is rustling through the trees. There are no sirens, no traffic, no trucks, no Batmobiles…

Dinah closes her eyes.


	5. Dinner at the Mayor's House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinah and Helena have dinner with the Amazons.

_“I’ve got it!”_

_“No, I’ve got it!”_

_“No, I’VE got it!”_

_“NO, I—”_

_“MAAAAAAAAA—”_

“What in the…?” Dinah turns to stare at Helena, but she just stands there, looking tall and bemused as she waits for the door to open.

_“Girls—oh, my God—”_

The door finally swings open, and a frazzled looking woman smiles out at them.

“Hi, welcome—”

“Hi!”

“Hi!”

There are two smaller faces pushing their way out of the doorway, staring up at them with big eyes and bigger smiles.

“Hi!”

“Hi!”

“Hi!”

“Hi!”

“Let them come _in—_ I’m so sorry, I’m Martha.” She puts out her hand and gives theirs a quick shake. “They’ve been so excited to meet you—”

“Hi!”

“Hi!”

“—ever since their mother said you’d arrived. Girls, I am trying to _talk—”_

There’s a bark of laughter from behind them, and Dinah turns to see Antiope bounding up onto the porch, her wife at her side.

“Good to see you two again,” she says, reaching up to clap their shoulders. “I see you’ve met the Wonder Twins. Children—are you giving these new people a hard time? You’ll chase them right back out of town!”

The girls shriek with delight as Antiope swoops down and gathers them up into her arms, and then it is suddenly quiet as she carries them into the kitchen, presumably to torment her sister.

“...let’s try that again,” Martha says with a sigh, and Menalippe gives a soft laugh as Martha reaches out and takes Dinah’s hand in both of hers. “I’m so happy you’ve come back to restore that old place. How’s everything on the farm, is it treating you all right?”

“It’s… different,” Dinah says a little too honestly, then she backtracks. “We’re enjoying it, though. It’s a nice change of pace from the city.”

Martha _tsks_ in agreement, then she turns and rests her hands lightly against Helena’s elbows, looking her up and down.

“I hope you find what you need here,” she says, her gaze flickering over her visible scars, now barely more than indents in her skin. “Stay for as long as you need.”

Dinah raises an eyebrow, wondering if they’d somehow gotten intel on their situation, maybe someone from the League—but no, why would the _Justice League_ be sending their information, their hospital records to a small-town mayor’s family?

“What they need right now is dinner, Martha,” Menalippe says gently, as if she can sense the conspiracy theories whirling around Dinah’s head. 

“Of course, of course,” Martha says, waving an absent hand. “Hippolyta’s in the kitchen, here, let me take your coats…”

* * *

There’s the sound of horseshoes against cobblestone just as Hippolyta is pulling the last pan of food from the oven. The rest of the crowd has been shooed into the living room, where they’re standing around with drinks and small plates filled from the offerings of cut fruit and veggies, hummus and chips. The twins are busy trying to put black olives onto all their fingers, and the adults are talking about their respective properties and the types of edible plants in the area; apparently they’re practically neighbors.

Dinah raises her head just in time to see a horse streak past the windows, then it stops at the front door, and Diana Prince leaps down like the knight she is, turning to offer a gallant hand to the smaller figure still seated on the horse’s back. 

“Late,” Antiope announces as they let themselves into the house, but it’s nearly drowned out by the sound of two little girls tearing across the room to greet their sister. Diana spares her aunt a frown, then it’s erased immediately as she kneels down to give the twins big, squishy hugs. Isabel Maru rolls her eyes and makes her way across the room, pulling a riding glove from one hand, then extending it toward Dinah and Helena.

“Welcome to our little corner of paradise,” she says, and her voice is dark, but her smile is warm and full of mischief. “Please give us a chance before you run away screaming.”

“If we were going to run away screaming, it would’ve been when _this one_ started talking about her horse having diarrhea while we were in the middle of dessert,” Dinah says, reaching out to point a finger at Antiope’s innocent face. 

“I was answering a simple question—” Antiope begins, but she’s saved from an explanation by Hippolyta calling them into the dining room.

* * *

Dinah Lance was born and raised in Gotham, a slimy monster of a city. No one came to Gotham for the food: they came for the bars, the night life, the madness. In Gotham, fresh vegetables were add-ons, things that were optional sides for your burgers, pizzas, subs—and you were lucky if they were fresh at all, and not battered and fried, or previously frozen. Trying to get Helena Bertinelli, who’d lived her entire life fed by hired cooks and room service, to settle into the city… it had been rough, at times.

But they live out in the country now, and fresh vegetables grow right outside people’s homes, and here, on this dining room table, they’re _everywhere._ There’s a colorful salad made with fresh kale, cherry tomatoes, avocado, cucumber, mushrooms, purple onions, and feta cheese; creamy parsnip soup with ginger; a large dish practically heaped with slices of roasted vegetables: tomatoes, squash, zucchini, potatoes, onions. There are whole blocks of goat cheese and feta cheese sitting on cutting boards, and anyone can help themselves to as much as they want, fried zucchini fritters in dipping sauce, and little flavorful bits of charred meat on skewers that turn out to not be meat at all, but grilled seitan. 

Dinah finds herself sitting next to Isabel and Diana, and they talk at length about their respective businesses: Diana talks about the possible upgrades and buildings she could build on the farm, and Isabel talks about her scientific work, and the tools she develops for spelunkers who explore the nearby caves. They ask her about Gotham, and Dinah’s surprised at how many nice things she has to say about that little corner of hell.

When dinner is over, the twins go into the backyard to blow bubbles and chase each other, and Dinah excuses herself to light up a cigarette on the front porch. It’s after sunset, but the horizon is still a deep blue, and the stars are just beginning to show their shiny little faces.

Dinah takes a deep breath, then slowly lets it out. She can almost hear the ocean from here. She can definitely hear the muffled laughter of the little girls, the cheerful encouragement from the adults. It’s just another spring night, soft and peaceful… it’s bizarre. To not be afraid of the night. To not have to look suspiciously over her shoulder at the shadows, to keep her ears open for lurkers: whether they might be petty criminals, or superpowered criminals. 

The door opens, and for a second, the porch is flooded with light as Hippolyta steps out. She’s holding a steaming mug of coffee in her hands, and she steps up beside her, tall and elegant.

“May I join you?”

Dinah nods, moving over slightly. She’d barely gotten a word in with the mayor between the cooking and children, and she doesn’t _know_ the woman, but she feels like she knows her, somehow. Or that Hippolyta knows _her._

They stand in silence for a long moment, watching as the sky grows darker and darker by the second, then the taller woman lays a gentle hand on her arm.

“You made the right decision.”

Dinah looks up. The hand doesn’t move. She opens her mouth to speak, but it takes a moment for sound to actually come out.

“Yeah.”

It’s a word, a sound, but it seems inadequate somehow, and she bites back the strange frustration rising up within her and goes on,

“I just—I wish we’d done this sooner. Before…”

Before her wife, her lover, her precious Helena was gunned down, as if those twenty bullets had a personal vendetta against her for escaping them all those years ago… 

“You made the right decision to _stay,”_ Hippolyta interrupts, her voice as soft as the night. “You had work to finish in the world. You both did. There is no shame in wanting to use your time and talents for good.”

Dinah grimaces and turns away, blowing out a wispy cloud of smoke. If she and Helena had been football players, professional athletes, they would’ve retired ten years ago, gone to spend their millions living the good life. But they’d spent so long wrestling the beast that was Gotham, it was almost unfathomable to even think about leaving—until it became clear that they couldn’t stay.

“This might not be permanent,” Hippolyta says, and her hand moves up to rest lightly against her cheek. “You may decide to return. But live, while you are here, Dinah Lance. Man’s World can worry over itself.”

Dinah makes a face, feeling herself resisting the advice based on the sole principle that someone had just told her what to do, but she gives a short nod and Hippolyta steps away. 

“Can I ask you a question?” she says as the mayor’s hand is outstretched toward the door handle. She glances back at her, and she looks pleasantly surprised.

“Of course.”

“You called it Man’s World. I’ve noticed… I mean, are _no_ men allowed in this town?”

And Hippolyta gives a smile that sends a shiver of delight down Dinah’s spine, a shiver of recognition that this woman _does_ know her, and understand her, and at some point in her mysterious life, she had also been a warrior, a fighter, a champion for justice…

“Men hold this world in the palms of their hands, Dinah. Is it so absurd that we should hold tight to a mere sliver of it for ourselves?”


	6. Puppies at the Ranch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helena and Dinah go look at puppies.

Helena Bertinelli is wincing as she emerges from their bedroom, making a beeline to the dinner table. She helps herself to a stack of pancakes and a generous amount of syrup without a word of thanks, not even when Dinah comes over to slide some hashbrowns and fried eggs onto her plate.

“Are you all right?” Dinah asks, feeling entirely too domestic over here in her apron and platter of food and spatula. But Helena doesn’t tease her or even look up at her, and Dinah drops into the seat across from her, shoving the things in her hands onto the table and reaching out to touch her forehead.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Helena says, her voice impatient as she stirs sugar into her coffee. “I’m just… sore.”

Dinah stares at her for a moment, but when Helena doesn’t elaborate, she asks,

“Is it from the bike riding?”

Helena stops with a forkful of hash browns halfway to her mouth, realization apparently dawning on her, and then a sly smile crosses her face.

“Oh. Yeah… yeah, that would make more sense.”

* * *

Dinah decides to give the bike a little break, at least until they can get Helena some proper riding clothes—bicycle riding, that is. They’d left Helena’s motorcycle at the warehouse in Gotham, tightly locked up so then Cass or Harley didn’t go take it for a joyride. Maybe one day, they’ll take the bus up and ride the bike back, just the two of them on these open roads, riding underneath the stars…

“Is today puppy day?” Helena asks, interrupting Dinah’s romantic motorcycle daydream. Her hands still submerged in soapy water, with only the messy frying pan and mixing bowl left of the breakfast dishes. She shakes her head, turning to look over shoulder, and Helena’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, a knapsack on her back on like a boy scout.

“Don’t forget your hat,” she says, and Helena turns around instead of answering. Her hat is hanging against her back, and Dinah grins.

“You know, no one from the city would even recognize us now,” she says, setting the clean frying pan aside and running the water to let the mixing bowl soak. “Are you sure we’re ready for a dog? We’ve never had a dog.”

“We had a dog when I was a kid. And there was a dog on the farm,” Helena says, hooking her thumbs in the straps of the knapsack and rocking back and forth on her heels, clearly itching to go.

“Will you be _patient?”_ Dinah says, sitting down and lacing up her hiking shoes, the ones they got specifically for their new lives as farmers. She’d spent the last two weeks wearing them everywhere in an effort to break them in. The first weeks was painful. “And since when did you have a dog in Sicily? You never mentioned that before.”

“He was old,” Helena says absently, craning her neck to look out the window. “He ran away pretty soon after I got there.”

_He 'ran away'._ Dinah grimaces, double-tying her shoelaces, then she stands up, suddenly feeling tall. 

“All right, then. Let’s go look at some puppies.”

* * *

They get lost.

Antiope had been describing how their properties practically border each other, and Helena had a compass attached to her knapsack, so off they went, hiking through the fields, over some cliffs, keeping their path due South as much as possible. But Dinah had taken for granted the grid of Gotham, the way the streets just make _sense,_ with the avenues going north to south, and the streets going east to west. Out here, the trees all look the same, the fields all look the same, the rocks all look the same…

“So this is all part of the farm? All this land out here?” Helena asks after they’ve been walking in circles for half an hour. She looks happy as a clam in her Lara Croft wilderness explorer outfit, but Dinah is growing more frustrated by the minute. 

“I don’t _know_ because I don’t know where we _are,”_ she says a little more sharply than she intended. She’s just realized that, after walking through all the grass, there are little burrs and foxtails sticking to her clothes. But Helena doesn’t seem bothered at all. These damn Italians and their love of the outdoors—or maybe it’s just _this_ damn Italian and her love of the outdoors. 

“Lake!” Helena calls, apparently having gone ahead while Dinah was picking the burrs from her clothes. She’s practically running now, her knapsack bouncing against her back, and Dinah sighs. 

Taking down Gotham’s criminals every night was easier than _this._

* * *

There’s a woman at the lake. She’s wearing a broad sunhat and sitting cross-legged on the dock that leads out toward the middle of the water. There’s a large sketchpad in her lap, and a bag what looks like assorted art tools sitting beside her.

_“We should ask her where the ranch is,”_ Helena whispers when Dinah finally catches up. She pauses to take a drink of water from the bottle hanging off of Helena’s bag, then she wipes her mouth and nods, leading the way.

The lake is nice, fresh-smelling, and clear, even if the ground is a little mushy around its edge. The land looks less like a meadow here, and more like a forest. In fact, it looks so much like a secret hideaway, that Dinah considers just standing here at the edge of the lake so the stranger won’t think they’re about to ambush her, but Helena walks right on ahead without her, apparently unaffected by the sacred quiet of the water.

“Excuse us—hi,” she says, and the woman finally looks up. She must’ve heard their boots on the dock, but apparently had simply decided to ignore them for as long as possible. “Helena, and this is Dinah. We’re looking for the ranch, do you know where it is?”

The woman doesn’t get up, and Dinah doesn’t blame her. She wouldn’t want to risk that sketchpad slipping into the water, either. At first glance, it looks like she’d been drawing the lake, but now, Dinah sees that she’d been drawing the little clumps of algae growing around the logs of the dock.

_Weird,_ she thinks, but the woman just looks up at them, then sweeps a braid as red as the sun over one shoulder, and points back across the lake.

“It’s about a mile in that direction. Follow the river until you see the horses, you can’t miss it.”

“Great, thanks,” Helena says cheerfully, and Dinah nods her thanks. The woman just looks at them, then she says,

“I’m Pamela, by the way. Pamela Isley. But you can call me Ivy.”

* * *

They find the ranch twenty minutes later, just as Ivy said they would, and soon, they’re kneeling down inside a large pen getting walked on by ten little puppies. 

“You came at a good time, they’re just about ready to start socializing,” Antiope is saying, lifting one of the little nuggets away from where it’s trying to climb out and into settling it into Helena’s arms. “Be careful now. We keep that mop on hand for a reason.” 

The other puppies are trying to climb over to join their sibling in Helena’s arms, barking in their high little voices, tails wagging like mad, and Antiope shakes her head. 

“Shout if you need anything. And stay for lunch, or Mena will be offended.”

And then she’s gone, and Dinah finds herself with a lapful of puppies and a wife who is absolutely ecstatic. 

“Dinah…” Helena sighs, holding one of the puppies up and nuzzling its face, laughing as it tries to lick her. “We have to get one. Don’t you want one? Or two?”

“It’ll be a lot of work, Lee,” she says, trying to sound cautious, but there’s a puppy stepping on her with its little paws, and she suddenly feels like she wouldn’t mind a lot of work. What else are they going to do, buy a tractor and start putting in crops?

“They’re so _soft,”_ Helena whispers. They’re clamoring and climbing over each other for back scratches now, sniffing at their clothes, trying to bite at their fingers with their new teeth. Two of them have already lost interest and are going back to their corner of the pen to take a nap. Dinah smirks and turns to give a rueful glance over at her wife’s happy face. The last time she’d seen her look that happy was when she was kicking some criminal butt.

“We can ask if they’ll let us come back. Then we can decide a little later, okay?” she says, even though she already knows that the answer is yes, they’ll take them _all..._


	7. Farming in the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinah and Helena start their new vegetable garden (in the rain).

On the third day, it’s raining, and Dinah misses the swollen streets of Gotham so much, she can barely breathe. The rain here is relentless, coming down so hard, it’s like someone’s doing construction on the roof. Dinah goes out to check the mailbox, and the dirt road is basically one big, muddy puddle, and the world is drab, dreary, and grey.

Helena, after much swearing, has successfully lit a fire in the fireplace, and it crackles and throws warmth and light in a way that is supposed to be homey and comforting. In another life, she would’ve pushed the furniture to the side and started doing her training right there in the middle of the cabin; or maybe she would’ve stripped down to a t-shirt and shorts and gone barefoot out into the rain, because criminals don’t stop crimes just because of a little rain.

Maybe right now, Harley and Cass are robbing a bank, or sneaking through one of the abandoned warehouses down at the docks, or having brunch at a fancy restaurant in a skyscraper, one of those ones with panoramic views. Maybe Renee is at a coffeeshop somewhere, sitting beneath a tall window, drinking something stronger than coffee, reading news on a tablet like the old woman she is. Maybe—

“Maybe we should put something out there.”

Dinah blinks. Helena is standing at the window, arms crossed, a cup of coffee in one hand, and her bathrobe still on. Her hair is still tousled from last night, looking strangely hip.

“...something like what?” Dinah says, rousing herself from where she’d been brooding and staring into the fire. She’s not usually this bad, not usually this down on herself, but now that she doesn’t have to watch over Helena ever day, her life has been less… _busy._

“I don’t know. Maybe a little garden. We used to have a garden,” Helena says wistfully. Apparently Dinah’s not the only one who feels nostalgic from the rain. “One of the assassins was actually pretty good at it. He planted and harvested based on the phases of the moon.”

Dinah doesn’t know what to do with this information, and she can’t see the moon through the trees and clouds, but Helena—her shining light—turns, and her face is roughly as bright as the moon.

“I saw some old tools out in the shed. Why don’t we start clearing a little space out in front? It’ll be easier to pull up the weeds when the ground is wet.”

Helena’s already making her way across the room, tossing her coffee mug down onto the table with a clatter, pulling her night robe off. Dinah opens her mouth to say something about it being muddy out there, but Helena’s naked underneath that robe, and it’s nothing she didn’t see last night, but _Holy Mother of God—_

* * *

_At least it’s not THAT cold,_ Dinah thinks to herself, shoving her hands into her pockets. It’s a spring rain, a refreshing rain. They both bundled up in raincoats and boots, and Dinah stands under the roof of the porch until Helena emerges from the shed with a rake and a shovel and two pairs of work gloves and a grin on her face. She instructs Dinah to rake the growth away from a small area of dirt some five feet away from the house. Then she follows with the shovel, digging up the roots, overturning the earth, pointing out every time she finds a worm. By the time they're done, Dinah’s actually starting to enjoy herself, doing some physical work, seeing some progress.

“What do you think, planter boxes or decorative stones?”

Dinah shakes the rain off of her hood and looks over to where Helena’s standing at the edge of their dirt plot, looking pleased.

“What are we planting, flowers or vegetables?”

“I was thinking vegetables,” Helena says, tromping over to her, boots squelching against the mud. “Then we can make our own food… fresh salads, veggie stir fry, roasted potatoes, sweet peppers…”

Her arms are around Dinah’s waist now, and they’re separated only by their thick raincoats and a few gallons of water.

“We should see if the General Store has some starters. It _is_ a little late to be planting seeds.”

“Thank _God_ we got these waterproof pants,” Dinah grumbles, thinking about how awful the bike ride is going to be, but she leans in and gives her wife a kiss that tastes like rain and dirt. “Can we at least eat lunch first? I need my energy if I’m going to be biking you _and_ a big bag of fertilizer around town.”

“Oh, fertilizer, that’s a good idea,” Helena says, setting her shovel against the porch and taking the rake from Dinah’s hands. “You know, I knew I married you for a reason.”

* * *

They don’t bother to change out of their waterproof things, they just shake them out as best they can, make some quick sandwiches, then they’re off, Helena’s arms around Dinah’s shoulders as they swerve their way down the wet road.

_"We are taking showers instead of baths tonight, Crossbow Hunter!”_ she yells as they hit a puddle and mud splatters everywhere. Helena just laughs and leans forward, resting her cheek against what must be the very wet side of Dinah’s motorcycle helmet (they’re still waiting for their bike helmets to come in the mail).

The town square is wet and quaint and people-less. And it’s even more people-less than usual, because the sign on the General Store says _Closed on Wednesdays—_ much to their dismay.

“What kind of _goddamn_ store is closed on Wednesdays?” Dinah grumbles, hopping off the bike and thrusting it a little too hard against the brick wall of the store. 

“One that’s owned by real people,” Helena says calmly, taking off her helmet and shaking out her wet hair. “It’s fine. We’ll just come back tomorrow.”

Dinah sighs and brushes the water off Helena’s shoulder, then leans her head against it, wrapping her arms around her elbow. If there were other people around, she probably wouldn’t be standing so close to her, much less hugging her arm, but the town square is deserted, and the mayor is a woman married to another woman and they have cute little children, and it’s… 

It’s nice here, too.

It may not be Gotham, with its city lights and endless excitement, but here, with the rain dripping off of the awning in sheets, and the occasional roll of thunder echoing across the sky, and Helena standing next to her in her waterproof jacket, cool and content… this is also good.

And it’s even better when the door to the pharmacy swings open and a pretty woman pokes her head out, smiles at them, then says, _I saw you two standing out here… we have coffee if you’d like to get out of the rain and warm up a bit… there’s also cookies, but don’t tell Epione._


	8. Visiting the Carpenter's Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinah and Helena climb a mountain.

Helena likes climbing things.

It must’ve been all those years she spent training in the Sicilian hills, spending her teenage years wandering amongst active volcanoes. Gotham has no hills or geographical interest whatsoever; people have to get into cars and drive a few hours if they want to see the mountains, to go skiing or sledding, and that was never part of Dinah’s childhood. It wasn’t that they were too poor to afford outdoor recreation, but Laurel Lance apparently had her fair share of the outdoors when her mother moved to a farm, and the less time they spent outside, the better.

_We fought a whole goddamn war so then our children wouldn’t have to stand in the dirt picking shit, do you understand that?_

Dinah and her mother had a complicated relationship. It got even more complicated after she died.

“Come _on,_ I want to see Diana’s workshop, and then maybe they can tell us where to find those caves, they sounds neat.”

Helena of Before wouldn’t have even asked, she just would’ve packed her bag, and said Dinah could come along if she wanted. Dinah is wearing rubber boots (the ground is still wet from yesterday’s storm) and she’s holding a rusty watering can. She looks past the roof of the cabin to the hills looming on the horizon. Helena rocks back and forth on her heels, waiting, and Dinah shakes her head.

“Fine. We’re not biking though. We’ll never make it up those hills.”

* * *

It doesn’t take as long as Dinah thought to reach the building that functions as Diana and Isabel’s house and workplaces. There’s a little sign over the door that says “Carpenter’s Shop”, and a little garage, one of the first Dinah’s seen in this town. 

There’s a large clearing in front of the house, and Helena stops, glancing around with a strange look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Dinah asks, taking the moment to grab the thermos that’s hanging off of the back of Helena’s backpack and take a drink.

“Training.”

“Who’s training?”

Helena points to the edge of the clearing, where a few crude pull-up bars are standing next to a pine tree—which has a battered target pinned to it. It had been raining for the last two days, but the sandy ground is covered with footprints, circular patterns, deep indents, signs of scuffle.

“Huh,” Dinah says, screwing the cap back on and poking a cautious toe into the dirt. Maybe there’s more to these two than she thought.

* * *

The inside of the carpenter’s shop is open, airy, and smells like wood. There’s a little table in front by the door with a register and catalogue on it, but the room is mostly a large work area, complete with a long workbench, a back wall covered with tools, and neat stacks of wood: blocks, beams, sheets, hardwood, plywood… Dinah glances to the side, where two comfortable-looking chairs are set close to the door, and there’s a large fire extinguisher set into the wall.

“Hello, strangers!” Diana calls, pulling off gloves and goggles as she strolls across the room toward them. She has sawdust in her hair and a smile on her face, but Dinah can’t help but notice her arms—not as strong as Io’s, but learn and sturdy nonetheless, perfectly capable of hammering, hefting, ass-kicking.

“I hope we’re not interrupting,” she says, nodding to the strangely-shaped project that Diana had been working on. 

“Not at all,” she replies happily. “It’s nice to have visitors, we don’t get many up here. In fact, here, take a look.” 

She’s crafting lampposts to put along the path to their house, since _it gets so dark up here at night._ They’re elegantly designed, almost looking more like birdhouses than lights. They’re so quaint and homey, Dinah feels strangely nostalgic, just looking at then.

“Iron is more traditional, but wood just looks better out here, it feels less intrusive,” Diana says, running a critical finger over the edge of the wood. “Come back in a week or so, hopefully they’ll be up then...”

* * *

Helena asks about the caves, but that’s a dead end—literally. Apparently, there had been a rockfall some time ago, and the workers haven’t finished getting it cleared. Not to be deterred, Diana points them in the direction of a lookout near the house, and she invites them back for lunch _(Hopefully Isabel will surface long enough to eat something and say hello,_ she says with a wink). Dinah knows enough about scientists to know exactly what she means, and they bustled out of the shop with promises to come back.

“After we meet everyone, we’re going to be hosting meals at the farm for _weeks,”_ Dinah says. She’s not complaining, but neither of them are especially good cooks, and everyone here seems to make homecooked meals as a rule…

“Shit, it’s like the Dolomites out here,” Helena breathes, grabbing Dinah’s hand and pulling her up onto the ledge that is apparently the overlook. It’s not _exactly_ like the Dolomites, but it is pretty: the valley stretches out to the sea, and the town is just a cluster of buildings about a mile away, looking old and picturesque, like a picture from a postcard, or a puzzle. 

“It looks so quiet from up here,” Dinah says, almost in wonder. She knows she shouldn’t always be compare everything to Gotham, but it’s almost bizarre, this complete calm in the middle of the day, right when people should be pouring into the streets for their lunch break, or to make deliveries to people who can’t get out of their offices, or to steal something off of the crowds.

“Are you happy here?”

Dinah turns and stares at her. It’s not that she’s been insensitive since the attack, but she was never very sensitive to other people’s emotions in the first place, and once that fucking bullet lodged itself in her occipital lobe, sending shards into all sorts of horrible places, Helena had mainly been focused on herself. Dinah had, too. 

“You’re here,” she says, and she winces at how aggressive her voice sounds. “I’ll never be unhappy again.”

Helena makes a face, then reaches out and wraps her arms around her, resting her cheek against the top of her head. 

“You can’t use that answer forever,” she says, giving her sweaty forehead a kiss. Bullets be damned, she could get used to this softer, romantic-er Helena. They stand in silence for a moment, watching as she river weaves its way down the mountain, all the way to the beach.

“I’m not unhappy,” she says at last. The wind rustles through the trees, through the new spring leaves. “It’s just new. And it’ll take some getting used to. But I want to, if you do.”

Helena’s learning her whole self against her now, and Dinah’s sure she’s doing it solely to be annoying, to see if she’ll pick her up, and she _will_ dammit, if she doesn’t cut it out—

“You’ve changed too, you know.”

The wind sweeps her words away, the soft rumble that they are against her back, and she opens her mouth to respond, and then she doesn’t. They stand for a little while longer, then Dinah reaches up to hold the arms that are wrapped around her neck.

“I think it’s for the better.”


	9. Ants in the Farmhouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's raining, and Dinah and Helena get ants inside the farmhouse. Then they go to the park. In the rain.

“Why are there ants in the bathroom?”

Dinah looks up from the cereal box she’d been reading. Alex Danvers carries the good old school stuff in the general store, and this box has an I Spy on the back: _How many trees can you find? What’s under the bus? Why are there ants—  
_

“Hm, I don’t know that one,” Dinah says, reaching for her coffee. “...is it because they’re all hiding from their husbands?”

“No, I mean, why are there _ants_ in the bathroom?” Helena repeats, wringing her hair out with a towel. “There were a couple by the window, and I looked and there’s a whole bunch behind the toilet.”

“Oh, for fuck’s...” Dinah climbs to her feet and stalks across the room to the muggy rainforest that is the bathroom. Helena likes her showers hot, and no matter what she does—open the window, turn on the fan, open the door—it’s always steamy as a sauna when she’s done.

Dinah looks, and the assassin is right, there’s ants, a whole pack of little buggers, probably looking for an escape from the rain outside.

“I’ll make a thing—shit!” Dinah just barely keeps from smacking Helena in the jaw as she stands up. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m trying to see,” Helena replies, unconcerned. “What are _you_ doing?”

_“I’m_ trying to see,” Dinah snaps, but she gives a little smile as she shoos her wife out of the bathroom. “We ought to put an exhaust fan in there so then we don’t start getting mold.”

“I can try another fan,” Helena says, tossing aside her wet towel and opening the cupboard for a cereal bowl. “But I don’t think… what are you doing?”

“Making ant poison,” Dinah says, shooting a glance at the chocolate milk that Helena is pouring over her multigrain cinnamon crunch. “Keep your food over there.”

Helena just stirs her food in peace, watching as Dinah mixes up a solution of sugar and powdered boric acid.

“Do you think, if there was an ant-superhero, like Atom but an ant, they could be poisoned by insecticide? Or if Batman had become _Ratman_ instead, would he be susceptible to rat poison?”

“Bruce Wayne is exactly zero percent bat, so rodent killer wouldn’t affect him any differently than any other human,” Dinah says, digging around in their recycling bin and grabbing a handful of old caps. “Wanna watch me set up the death stations?”

“Of _course,”_ Helena says a little too cheerfully. Dinah leads the way back to the bathroom, where the steam has cleared up some, and she sets the caps out along the wall, and fills them with the sweet, deadly solution. 

“There, now get the fuck in there, you little—drink up now, Mama made you a nice breakfast...” Dinah flicks a couple ants over to the traps, trying to speed up the killing process. She watches a moment longer as they crawl around, then she nods in satisfaction.

“My mother used to make this stuff when we got ants in our apartment in Gotham,” Dinah says, scooting over so Helena can see the traps. "It always took a couple of days, but they do work.”

_“Hmm.”_ Helena is engrossed in watching the show. Two of them have found their way to the traps, and have started to drink deeply, their little feelers dancing. “Look at that. One last good meal before execution.”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Dinah says, stepping over her death-fascinated wife, trying to put the thought of dying ants out of her mind as she washes her hands and turns back to her breakfast. Ten minutes later, her food is gone, her dishes are washed, Helena’s still crouched in the bathroom, and Dinah’s starting to get a little worried.

“Babe... are you coming back out, your cereal’s getting soggy.”

_“Look! This one’s butt is turning white because he’s drinking so much poison—”_

“Oh, my _God,_ STOP WATCHING THE ANTS DYING.”

* * *

Helena wants to try out the bike, and Dinah wants to get her out of the ant death house, so they suit up in their waterproof gear and they head off down the road, Helena pedaling slowly, and Dinah walking alongside her. The rain is coming down, and Dinah has to keep wiping the water and fog from her riding glasses. But the sky is white, not dark and grey with heavy thunderclouds, and Helena seems to be enjoying herself, one foot in front of the other, carefully maneuvering around the puddles. 

“The rain bubbles,” she says as they take the turn away from the town square, heading for the park.

“The who?” Dinah asks, jogging a little to catch up now that the bike is rolling along on cobblestone instead of dirt. Helena hops off, pushing the bike along with one hand and pointing to a puddle with the other, and she’s right: the murky surface of the water is scattered with bubbles from where the heavy raindrops have fallen from the trees.

The park is completely empty; the purple ducky spring rider looks lonely and slightly sinister in the rain, like it was gored with a metal spring in its belly one night and now it just sits in the middle of the woodchips, biding its time…

Helena rests the bike against one of the benches with surprising gentleness, then she takes Dinah’s hand and leads her to the swings.

“Come on, they won’t break if we sit on them,” Helena says when Dinah drags her feet a little.

“It’s not the _swings_ I’m worried about,” Dinah says, but she sits, and Helena sits next to her, and they swing a little, listening to the rain, watching as the short blades of grass dance when the water hits them, watching as the wispy clouds roll across the sky. 

“When I was in high school… I used to go to a park at night, and sit on the swings, and smoke. I’d go through like, half a pack, just waiting.”

Helena’s looking at her, but Dinah doesn’t look back. The rain has eased up a little, it’s just the droplets falling from the trees now. 

“...what were you waiting for?”

_You,_ would be the right answer, but Dinah knows it’s not the truthful answer. 

“Just… life, I guess.”

A couple birds have started singing now that the rain’s stopped, maybe to check up on each other, to see whose nests got the worst of it.

“I don’t know. There was just a lot of waiting to get older, you know? I thought it’d be easier.”

“Yeah.”

It’s quiet once more, but Dinah hears a low rumble of thunder on the horizon, and her hips are starting to hurt from the swing. Helena looks at her, then she climbs to her feet, standing up in the swing, rocking back and forth like someone who’s never seen a swing before.

“You’re going to strangle yourself on that thing,” Dinah says, allowing herself a weak smile as Helena starts swinging a little harder.

“Have you ever gone all the way around?” Helena asks, getting a good rhythm going, making Dinah more nervous by the second.

“What, on a swing? _Fuck_ no, are you crazy?” Dinah exclaims, standing up now, ready to grab the damn thing in case it starts to look dangerous.

“Sal and I did an assignment once where we had to strangle someone on a swing se—”

“That is a _great_ story, now will you please come down?” Dinah interrupts, shielding her eyes as the stupid swing goes higher and higher. Helena’s sitting properly now, building up more and more speed. “That was _twenty_ years ago. You’re not nineteen anymore, Bertinelli.”

But Helena jumps. And she sails through the air like she’s the Huntress all over again, and Dinah stares, mouth open, heart racing—and she lands on her feet, narrowly missing a colorful salmonberry bush.

“Oh my _God.”_

'“What?” And Helena has the nerve to look confused. “I’m fine.”

"What about _me?_ And my _heart?!"_ But Dinah's only pretending to be angry, and Helena gives her a wet hug, and Dinah gets soggy raincoat slapped against her face, and she just sighs and brushes off the water with gloved hands that do more harm than good.

"Do you want to go down to the beach?" she asks, glancing over at the clock on the community center. "And then we can grab some lunch at Korra's, or the Saloon. Maybe dry off a bit."

"Oh, great, the beach. I could get more wet."

She's being sarcastic, but she says it so sweetly, Dinah laughs as she grabs the bike, climbing into the front seat.

"All aboard, swinger-assassin."

"That sounds... wrong."

"Yeah, that sounds—climb on, ant-killer!"

"Now it just sounds like I kill aunts."

Dinah rolls her eyes and starts pedaling, and Helena's arms slip around her waist, and the grass is so _bumpy,_ especially with two people, for a second, she's afraid they're going to topple right over.

"You DO kill ants," Dinah gasps, because she forgot the stairs, and they're clattering down, and her teeth are chattering loudly in her head, and she's grabbing at the brakes, but finally they're on level ground, cobblestone—

"Excuse me, I watch as _you_ kill ants."

And too late, Dinah sees that's they're speeding past Mayor Hippolyta; she's standing under the general store awning, looking at the bulletin board, and she sends an alarmed look in their direction when they hurl past, but Dinah can hear her laughing behind them, so hopefully she didn't hear them talking about their murderous tendencies...

"Watch OUT, don't hit the TRASH CAN!"

And Dinah just barely misses hitting the saloon trash can, and she hits a big puddle instead, and _God,_ mud is flying everywhere, and whose idea was this, _whose?_ but Helena's laughing, and they're passing Martha and Hippolyta's house, and the little girls are shouting and waving at them from inside, and the ocean is just there, on the horizon, and it's grey and choppy and magnificent...


	10. Rainy Day inside the Mayor's House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marlyta parenting.

“It’s the farmers!”

“Ma, look, it’s the farmers!”

“Hi, farmers!”

“Bye, farmers!”

“Bye...” Donna keeps waving even as Nubia climbs down from the couch and picks up the picture book that she’d abandoned when Dinah and Helena rode past on that bike of theirs. Martha can’t figure those two ladies out: the way they act around each other, you’d think they were teenagers, but sometimes they say things, act in a way that makes it seem like they’ve been to hell and back…

“I wanna play with the farmers,” Donna says, almost too softly for Martha to hear from where she’s knitting in her rocking chair. The house is cozy and snug even as the storm howls past the sturdy walls, and the record player is on; the girls had chosen an album full of holiday songs, even though it’s the middle of spring. 

“Ma, I wanna play with the _farmers,”_ Donna says again, and her bottom lip is trembling. Her little hands are still pressed up against the window, as if the farmers are going to spin around and ride right past again. 

“I’m sure the farmers are busy running their errands, Donna—”

“I wanna play! _I wanna play with the farmers!”_ Her tiny voice is higher now, and she stamps her foot against the couch cushion. 

“Farmers don’t play, Donna, they _farm,”_ Nubia says helpfully from the floor, but Donna is not comforted by this in the least, and she promptly bursts into tears.

“Oh, my _God,”_ Martha groans, stabbing her needles into the ball of yarn and setting her knitting aside. “Come here, both of you.”

This is what happens when two five-year-old little girls are cooped up inside all day, loud meltdowns about _farmers._ Martha sits herself down on the plush couch and pulls Donna up against her, muffling her sobs against her sweater. Nubia climbs up from the floor, bringing her book with her, turning another page even as she snuggles up against her mother’s side. Apparently, she’s unfazed by the loud crying happening just a few inches from her head.

 _“Children…”_ Martha sighs, combing her fingers through their jet-black hair, kissing the tops of their little heads. Donna rubs her face against her, rubbing tears and snot all over her nice sweater, but she’s quieted down in her mother’s arms, and Nubia has spread out, lying on her stomach, burying the side of her head against Martha’s thighs and propping her book up against her belly. 

“Well, great,” Martha sighs, but Donna is quiet again and she can’t move _now,_ especially since Nubia has poked her twin, and is showing her something in her book, and now they’re _gigging._ The record player goes silent for the moment, then “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” starts playing, and Martha turns to look out the window at the rain, and it’s really coming down out there, she hopes those farmers are wearing their rain gear, gallivanting out on their bike in this weather…

The front door unlocks, and the girls leap to their feet, and suddenly Martha’s lap is baby-free as they tear off toward the entryway, where Hippolyta has just stepped in, bags of groceries slung over her broad shoulders, rainwater dripping from her hair. 

“Food!” Donna yells, at the very same moment that Nubia flings her arms around her mother’s leg and exclaims,

“Wet!”

“What’ve you been doing to these children, Martha Kent?” Hippolyta says, kicking off her wet shoes and crossing the living room. 

“Hell if I know,” Martha grumbles, but Hippolyta leans in to kiss her, and when she gives her snotty sweater a questioning look, Martha just gives her a tired look in return.

“Here, give it. I’ll get started on dinner,” she says, reaching out to tug one of the bags from Hippolyta’s shoulder. But the mayor just pulls away, hefting the bag out of reach.

“Don’t be silly, darling. The girls and I will make dinner. _You_ go away and rest so we can surprise you.”

“Surprises!”

“Mother, did you bring surprises?”

“I want a surprise!”

Hippolyta reaches into one of the bags and half-pulls out a bottle of wine that is clearly Diana and Isabel’s handiwork, and she smirks as Martha pretends to reach for it.

“Come along, girls,” she says, shooing them into the kitchen, turning off the record player as she strolls past. There’s a radio in the kitchen, and it will play season-appropriate tunes…

“Did you see—did you see the _farmers_ when you were outside?”

“We saw the farmers! They went past!”

“Yes, I saw them in the square,” Hippolyta’s calm voice says, and there’s the crinkle of paper, the dull clank of glass bottles as she begins to unpack the groceries. “They were biking and talking about ants.”

“I want ants!”

“We _have_ aunts. Aunt Antiope and Aunt Menalippe—”

Martha groans as she drags herself up to her feet. Io is passing by the window, a giant umbrella in hand, probably gone to walk Epione from the pharmacy down to the Saloon. It’s a miserable day out, and Martha listens for a moment to the rumble of thunder in the distance, then she goes to the front door and sticks her head out.

“Io!”

The blacksmith does a double take, then turns and gives her a wry smile.

“Hello to you too, Martha,” she says, looking as if she wants to cross her arms, but she can’t while holding an umbrella…

“Those new farmers went by a while ago. Have you seen them?”

“Not today, but I haven’t left the forge until ten minute ago,” Io says, stepping a little closer. Martha frowns and casts a worried glance toward the beach. 

“Those two can take care of themselves,” Io says, as if reading her thoughts. “They’ll be fine—as long as Korra’s not trying to take them out on that boat of hers.”

“They’re just new, that’s all. And Helena is still recovering, and it’s such a long way back to that old farm. It’d just be the cherry on top, getting pneumonia.”

Io cranes her neck, following Martha’s gaze, but they can only see a sliver of the beach from here.

“If I don’t see them riding past before sunset, I’ll run down and see if they want a ride back home.”

“You don’t have to do that—”

“I’m happy to do it,” Io says, then she glances back at Martha’s face, her smile widening. “Hippolyta will let me borrow the car, right?” 

And Martha laughs.

_“You?”_

Io grins and waves, then she’s gone back to face the rain, and Martha shuts the door. The girls are singing in the kitchen, and Martha can hear Hippolyta chopping up some ingredients, something’s sizzling in a frying pan, and the fan over the stove is on…

It will be at least 45 minutes before dinner is ready. Martha makes her way toward the bedroom, closing the door behind her, yanking her wet sweater over her head, stripping off her pants, and slipping into bed, sighing in sheer relief as the cool sheets slide over her bare skin.

Just a little nap, that’s all she needs. Hippolyta is making dinner, and pouring wine, and then when it’s all ready, the plates, and cups, and forks, and food, she’ll make her way into the room and whisper a kiss over Martha’s ear and say, 

_Dinner’s on the table, darling._

And Martha… Martha will keep on sleeping.


	11. Egg Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helena and Dinah attend the Stardew Vallley Egg Festival and meet everyone.

One sunny Spring morning, Martha Kent shows up on the farmhouse porch, two little girls hanging onto her jacket sleeves, and a pie in her hands.

“That’s quite a hike, coming up here,” she says when Dinah swings open the door. It’s still early, and Helena is pouring cereal and coffee—but not coffee into her cereal, hopefully.

“Hey, welcome, come in,” Dinah says, taking a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure the house and her wife are decent. They never got visitors in Gotham, at least not ones who _knocked._

“Ma, can we look at the—”

“Can we look at the _plants?”_

The little girls have escaped their mother and are kneeling down to look at the little garden Dinah and Helena had dug a few weeks ago.

“Oh, sure they can look at the—there’s not much out there yet, though,” Dinah says with a wave of her hand, remembering the small, but beautiful gardens in front of the Mayor’s house.

“Fine, but don’t touch anything,” Martha says, giving her daughters a stern look. 

“WE WON’T!” 

Martha shakes her head, then she hands over a pie as she crosses the threshold, as if it was a requirement for entering their little house.

“It’s strawberry and rhubarb,” she says, waving away Dinah’s thanks. “One child picks strawberries, the other child picks rhubarb, and they both want to make the pie for the farmers. I told Lyta, good thing they weren’t out there picking green beans and salmonberries or something...”

Dinah laughs and takes a peek at the pie, wondering if it’s bad manners to eat dessert for breakfast. Helena is greeting Mrs. Kent and offering her a cup of coffee, and Martha is asking about the garden and what they put in, but when she sees Dinah reluctantly setting the pie onto the counter, she smiles and says,

_It’s fresh, if you want to sneak a little. I won’t tell._

Martha Kent is one of those talented kind of people who can talk constantly without being annoying. She tells them about how the town was founded, back when Hippolyta and some of her friends _—including your grandmother, Dinah,_ she adds—wanted a place to settle, away from the bustle of the city, and the chaos of war, and so they’ve chosen Stardew Valley, and slowly but surely, more people had joined, seeking escape from the outer world, just like Dianh and Helena had after the attack.

“Is the no-man thing on purpose?” Helena asks casually, pouring herself more coffee. Dinah nudges her underneath the table, but Martha just smiles.

“It wasn’t, at first,” she admits, nodding her thanks as Helena pours her more coffee, too. “But sometimes things just have a way of working out. You know?”

Dinah opens her mouth to reply, but all of a sudden, she’s interrupted by the voices of the twins, and they’re bursting inside, shouting, _LOOK WHAT WE FOUND!_ and they’re holding out a painted chicken egg, so bright and colorful that it couldn’t have been decorated more than a day ago, and they’re both grinning from ear to ear, and Helena gingerly picks it up and says, _Wow! Where did you find this?_ and she’s so good with kids, Dinah never realized that before, how is it she never realized before that her wife—

“We found it—” the girl named Donna smothers a giggle behind her hand, then stands up a little straighter, as if trying her best to look convincing. “We found it under a _tree.”_

Martha rolls her eyes, but she reaches into the little knapsack at her hip and pulls out a piece of paper.

“I completely forgot, Lyta sent me over to make sure you two know about the Egg Festival. It’s this Saturday. We’ll start setting up at nine, but feel free to come closer to eleven or twelve. We’ll have food, and you can meet everyone and help hide eggs if you like. The hunt for the little ones will be at two.”

“Can we hunt for eggs, too?” Dinah jokes, taking the invitation and getting up to stick it onto the refrigerator. And Martha laughs, even as she tries to shush the girls and their shouts that they want to help the farmers find eggs.

* * *

Dinah doesn’t know what she’s expecting.

She hasn’t been to a real Easter Egg hunt since she was five or six, and her mother came home with a new dress that she’d gotten from the thrift store down the street, and she’d made Dinah put it on and spin around a few times.

They’d gone to church that Sunday, and after the singing and the long sermon and the dancing, there was a barbeque and egg hunt for the kids. A tall woman in a colorful dress and a big hat had handed her an empty basket and told her to go stand with the other children, and they’d lined up by height along the wall, staring at the grassy backyard of the church, and even from where they were standing, they could see eggs, plastic eggs hiding in the grass and bushes and tree branches and behind the statues of Jesus and his disciples and the stone birdbath—and people were shouting and taking pictures, and Dinah had craned her neck, looking for her mother, but she hadn’t seen her in the crowd, and then the pastor yelled _GO_ and everyone went running, and people were laughing and calling out to their kids and grandkids, yelling at them to _go_ _over there!_ and Dinah had filled up her basket, and when it was over, she and another little girl had plopped down on the concrete and counted their eggs, and she had 46, and the other girl had 48, so she’d given her one of hers so then they’d be even…

“Babe?”

Dinah blinks. She’s standing in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at her reflection, and it’s not a five-year-old girl looking back, it’s a fifty-year-old woman, and there’s another woman staring down at her, and she’d holding a toothbrush. 

“Sorry, I just—I mean, I can brush over the kitchen sink—”

“Don’t brush your teeth over the kitchen sink,” Dinah says, and her voice sounds sharper than she meant it to be. But she kisses Helena’s cheek as she steps out of the bathroom, and thankfully, the taller woman doesn’t seem to notice the melancholy look on her face.

* * *

It’s a good day for a hunt—an _egg_ hunt, that is. Diana Prince sees them walking hand-in-hand up the path, and they are walking instead of biking because it’s such a short walk to the town square, anyway, and Helena’s been getting stronger every day. Diana gives them a hearty wave from where she’s standing in front of a little stand Alex Danvers had set up, and the storekeeper is selling potted plants, stuffed bunnies, lawn ornaments, spring seeds. Dinah buys a giant, ridiculous-looking pink flamingo to put out in their front yard, making Alex promise to not tell Helena.

There are other people wandering around, mingling, chatting, filling plates at a long table covered in food. Karen and Kara keep carrying dish after dish of food from the saloon, soups and salads and an entire ham and pies and deviled eggs and shrimp cocktail and cheeses and the biggest bowl of punch that Dinah’s ever seen…

Hippolyta spots them and waves them forward, ordering them to grab a plate, pointing them toward the coolers of soda and water that are sitting underneath a tree. As they’re getting their plates and napkins and forks, the mayor introduces them to a woman named Sam, who drives the bus from Stardew Valley to Zuzu City every morning. Her eleven-year-old daughter Ruby is off playing with Donna and Nubia, whom she babysits sometimes. They’ve just shaken hands when Kara comes up behind them, holding a platter of food in each hand, and she says, 

“Keep eating, Babs and Karen have been cooking for days getting everything ready: fried eggs, boiled eggs, poached eggs, deviled eggs, scrambled eggs… chocolate eggs.”

Lena Luthor laughs from where she’d been helping herself to a cup of punch, and Kara turns bright red and all but runs back to the saloon, almost forgetting to set down her platters of egg salad baguettes.

_“Please_ ask that poor girl out,” Dinah says, watching as Kara disappears into the brick building across the town square. But Lena just laughs again and pats Dinah’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I have a plan. It involves dancing.” Lena glances over her shoulder at where Io and Epione are helping themselves to the baguettes and saying something about why is Karen Starr so obsessed with bread that is so hard, it hurts to eat. “Just wait and let the salad soak in a little, Epione—or if that doesn’t work, try pouring some water over it.”

The women laugh, then there’s the sound of shrieking children, and it’s because Korra and Asami had arrived from the docks, and they’re all running to the burly sailor and she’s picking up a girl with each arm, and they’re shouting something about a haircut, and Korra is pretending that she’s going to run and jump into the bowl of punch, and the children are screaming with laughter, and Asami just shakes her head and goes off to talk with Antiope and Isabel…

“So, have you met everyone in the town? That sounds exhausting,” Lena says, and Dinah realizes that of course she would know everyone, being the town pharmacist, and sharing the same office with the town doctor. Helena looks around—being the taller of the two of them—then she nods toward the bottom of the square.

“We met her—Ivy… I don’t think we’ve met the woman she’s talking to. And we haven’t met those old people. I think we’ve pretty much met everyone else, haven’t we, babe?” 

Dinah nods, and Lena looks, then raises her eyebrow.

“I’m surprised you met Ivy, she’s a bit of a hermit living out there,” she says, but her voice isn’t unkind. “The other one’s Selina Kyle. You’ve probably seen her cabin out on the beach. And that older couple, they run the Adventure’s Guild up in the mountains. The grumpy-looking one is Toph, and the one standing is Katara. They have some _insane_ stories. And there’s one person you probably haven’t met, Circe, who lives in the tower.”

“A dark tower?” Helena has been working her way through a series of books Alex had for sale in the little _‘Used Book Nook’_ of her store.

“I think it’s just made of stones,” Lena says, missing the reference. “Antiope has some weird stories about strange noises she’s heard coming from over there, though. I’m kind of glad she doesn’t come to town much.”

“New Farmers!” Korra’s voice booms from behind them, and then her strong arms are flinging around their shoulders. “What’re we eating? Eggs?”

“It’s the _egg festival,”_ Nubia says from Korra’s elbow, standing on her tiptoes so she can reach for another slice of French toast. “You _have_ to eat eggs.”

“Hmm, but what if—what if I don’t _like_ eggs?” Korra says in a loud whisper as she lifts Nubia up so she can pour what looks like a gallon of syrup onto her toast. The little girls look absolutely scandalized, and Korra lets out a loud laugh at their faces.

“My mother wants to know what’s so damn funny,” a newcomer says. It’s a woman with a severe-looking face, and she’s holding an empty plate and shooting a look of disapproval in their direction. “They can hear you all the way up in Zuzu City, kid.”

“Lin! No one told me you were here, I would’ve shut up!” Korra says, elbowing the woman in the ribs. “No, wait—no, I wouldn’t have.”

The woman gives the sailor a glare that softens only a little as she turns and extends her hand to Dinah and Helena.

“I’m Lin Beifong. You must be the new farmers.”

“Yes—that’s our new legal names,” Dinah says, and the woman actually manages a smile.

“Sounds like you two will fit right in.”

* * *

After the eating, there’s egg hiding, and the children have to go into the general store to decorate their baskets while the adults hide the eggs, and Korra actually manages to toss an egg onto the Mayor’s roof without it cracking, and Martha just stares, then shakes her head and says,

_You know what, I’ll bet you one of my children will actually get that one down, too._

But it’s fun, trying to find creative places to hide brightly-painted eggs, and the adults are all laughing and calling to each other, and it’s not just fun for the kids, it’s fun for them, too. Sam pokes her head out from the general store, but everyone yells that they _not ready yet, don’t look!_ and she says something rude and pulls her head back inside.

When the mayor sees Ivy and Selina kneeling by the river’s edge, trying to see if the eggs will float in the water, she calls for the end of the egg-hiding, and gives the word for the children to be brought out, and they come out, and their silly faces are beaming with excitement, and their little hands are clutching the baskets that they decorated with ribbons and colorful plastic grass and fake rhinestones, and then they’ve lined up in the middle of the square, and Hippolyta is holding onto a pocket watch, an old vintage one, and she says _GO!_ and they’re off running, and it’s just like Dinah remembered, but this time it’s a different kind of happiness, it’s a nostalgic happiness, and suddenly Helena’s there, and she’s standing behind her and she’s wrapped her arms around Dinah’s nostalgic body, and they’re watching as the children run to and fro, filling their baskets until they’re too heavy to carry, and then they dump them at Martha Kent’s feet and keep running, and the mayor’s wife just throws up her hands in mock exasperation, but Hippolyta kisses her and she blushes and pushes her away, clearly aware that the entire town is watching them…

When the excitement is over, Barbara invites everyone to the saloon for a dinner of leftovers, and Dinah and Helena say they might stop by later tonight, and Antiope tells them their puppy will be ready to come home in a week or two, and Martha Kent gives them hugs and thanks them for coming, and then the little girls give them hugs and thank them for coming, too, and Alex waves them over to her stand and she’s holding up the stupidest-looking giant flamingo that's ever been made, and Helena stares as Dinah takes it from her and starts walking down the path that leads to the farm, and then she breaks into a jog to catch up with her, and she says,

“Did you actually buy that? We get to keep it?”

And Dinah just kisses her and says wryly,

“I’m going to have nightmares about this thing, it’s taller than me.”

But Helena kisses her again, and her eyes are shining, and for a split second, Dinah thinks that maybe she should go back and buy another one...


End file.
